


5 Symptoms of Joan's PTSD

by a1ias



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, PTSD Joan, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a1ias/pseuds/a1ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 Ficlets based on symptoms of PTSD revolving around Joan and Sherlock. Aftermath of 2x22.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> I have no experience with PTSD so any medical knowledge or treatments discussed throughout the ficlets are from researched sites. Originally for tumblr but I decided to post it here as well.

The silence of the night is broken by a strangled cry that claws its way out of her throat and reverberates through the brownstone. The harsh panting that follows breaks into a sob that explodes like shrapnel from a bomb. The twisted sheets around her legs hold her prisoner and awakens the blinding panic that quickly settles in her chest. The sobbing turns into a soft crying until they quiet to tiny hiccups as her heart rate settles from the thumping beneath her chest. The sheets have fused to her sweat covered body and peel away like a layer of dead skin as she sits up on the edge of the bed.

The bedroom door creaks open and Sherlock steps past the threshold. He makes his way to sit next to her on the bed.The mattress dips as the box springs creak under his weight and cause her to jump slightly. He calmly places his right hand on her shoulder and grasps her left hand with the other. She leans into him and his right hand slides across her back to encase her small frame against him. Her breathing has slowed and he gently leans out of the embrace to look at her and removes her damp hair from her face.

He slowly stands up and leaves the room to return with a damp face cloth. He stands in front of her and gently tilts her head upward to slowly drag the cloth across her delicate features. Her eyes stay fixed and unfocused on his chest, while his scan every detail of her face he can in the dim light, encoding it to memory. The grip on her chin falls and he leans over her, gently pushing her shoulder, guiding her to lie back down on the bed. He moves to the other side of the bed to place the cloth next to the lamp on the wooden chair masquerading as an end table. He lifts the soaked sheets away from her body and settles them at the foot of the bed and then carefully lies down next to her. They are both on their backs looking up at the ceiling when he whispers into the dark, “I will do everything in my power to help you though this, Joan.” She does not speak but he feels movement on the mattress and feels her fingers interlock with his. He hears her sigh and within a few minutes they fall asleep, bodies open and uncovered to the darkness.


	2. Hyperarousal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hyperarousal is a chronic state of fight or flight

It started after seeing Sherlock for the first time in two days. She could feel his body buzzing and see his mind calculating as his eyes dart around her face. She reassures him with simple words but she knows that it will not pacify the burning fire within him. She hears the rasping of his brother and feels the panic surge within her. She quickly makes her excuses to escape before leaving him to confront his brother and makes her way up the stairs to her bedroom. 

The past few days have caught up with her and the fatigue that was kept at bay crashes over her. The door to her room is slightly ajar when she pushes through it. Everything looks the same as it did that night she left to meet Mycroft. She looks around taking in the familiar possessions but right now she feels no connection to them. Her body and mind are severed from each other, one trying to catch up to the other in a vicious circle. 

She knows she should change out of her clothes but she just can’t find the energy other than to remove her boots and lie down on top of the bedspread. She closes her eyes only for them to spring open at the sound of floorboards creaking and voices carry up the stairs. She wrenches herself into a sitting position and she strains to decipher the voices wafting up to her room. Her heart is pounding beneath her chest as her eyes scan her surroundings and what little of the hallway she can see. The voices cease but the beating of her heart still drums away in her ears. She lies back down, eyes wide open, breathing rapidly and waits.

He sees the constant state of tension that now plagues her during the day and that bleeds into the night. She’s changed. The smallest of sounds that would go unnoticed by others, sends her jumping in the air with her hand over her heart as if to make sure it doesn’t leap from her chest. She’s yelled at him a total of six times in the past week regarding his usual experiments and mess. The first time he replies with something particularly biting and sardonic that ignites a rage within her. The look she gives him is fuelled by liquid fire that causes his eyes to widen and makes him take a step back. She turns sharply and goes to the kitchen, leaving his line of sight but he knows from the noises that she has smashed three plates on the floor and thrown a glass against the wall and is weeping softly. He understands after the first time and takes it in stride from then on. 

She’s a doctor. She knows what’s happening, why she’s feeling and acting the way that she is, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier. Her nights are filled with restless sleep, tossing and turning or staring blankly at the ceiling or one of the walls. The irritation the rips through her when she hears Sherlock say anything in the glib way he does, leaves her shaking. She knows that he knows and tries to remember that he’s just being himself because he isn’t the one that’s changed. It’s her and she can see that he is trying to help and wants to talk to her about it but she just can’t. Not yet. 

Her mind has not yet been able to reset from the psychological impact of what has happened. She needs help, she knows and so does he. Her days have started to blend together and she’s unsure of what to do next. She picks up her tablet in search of answers, to see by the URL bar a bookmarked folder named, “When You’re Ready”. She opens it and ten different tabs pop up with different doctors and therapists and their education credentials all laid out on the screen.

She looks up to see him approach her, he’s obviously deduced that she has found the folder. He places a hand on her shoulder with an small smile. She looks up at him and feels that spark of irritation she has started to become accustom to and she hates it. She looks away from him and back to the web pages in front of her and starts reading. She’s ready.

Her sessions come and go and she feels she’s made no progress. She’s not getting better and feels that she won’t. Her therapist reassures her she’s doing well and that it will take time but she wants to recover from this as quickly as the changed occurred the night of her “rescue”, but it doesn’t and for the first few weeks she feels worst than she did before starting her sessions. He tries to tell her that the road of recovery is long and treacherous but she doesn’t hear any of it. It isn’t until she finds him waiting for her after her sessions to walk her home does she realize the parallels of their original relationship, client/sober companion and how the roles have been reversed.

Weeks pass and she’s slowly on her way to recovery but some days she feels like she’s drowning in emotions that aren’t hers. Some days there’s no fight left in her and she let’s the darkness consume her, but it’s him that reaches out a hand and pulls her back to the surface to breathe. She knows when it started but she doesn’t know when it will end. When it does end though, she knows that he’ll be the one by her side.


	3. Flashback

She’s been backed into a corner and there was no way out. Her mother had used every trick in the book to get her to agree to have dinner with her, but she was not to be totally outsmarted. She stated conditions of it being at the brownstone and that she would cook so she didn't have to leave the house she has secluded herself in for the past few months.

She’s making garlic and herb stuffed chicken breasts, one of her mother’s favourites and praying for a relaxing evening. The cleaned chicken pieces waiting to be prepared lie out on the counter next to her stuffing mix. She can hear Sherlock in the den picking new locks and then throwing them into a pail to be organized on the lock wall.

She places a piece of chicken on the cutting board and puts a knife to its flesh. The knife slides into it and with a gasp, she’s jolted back in that warehouse with a man bleeding on the table in front of her. Her hand is in his abdomen stretching the skin to find the bullet lodged in him. She’s searching and searching but she can’t find it, there’s not enough light, her knife is too dull, she’s failing. Three loud bangs occur and she sees a smoking gun and the face of the bleeding man is still, he’s dead. She gives a small yelp and drops the knife; it falls to the ground with a clatter.

He hears her audible gasp and forgets about the lock in his hands and moves towards the kitchen. He sees her lost in her own mind, her hands reenacting what her mind sees. He calls out her name, “Watson”. She doesn’t hear it. He makes his way closer to her until he’s in reaching distance. Her name is on the tip of his tongue, but before he can say it, three loud bangs from a car backfiring down the street causes him to swallow it. The sounds have made it past her walls and she jumps back and drops the knife with a loud yelp. Her breathing is rapid and her hands shake as she holds them up near her face. Her eyes stare into empty space.

She’s told him about the man she tried to save while she was being held hostage and how the leader has killed him. He can see the fear in her eyes and knows she’s seeing the man murdered again before her. He needs to ground her, to bring her out of her memories. He voices her name over and over, louder and louder every time. It doesn’t reach her. He stands in front of her and takes her shaking hands that are hovering in the air and places them on his chest, her right hand on top of his heart. Hoping that the feel of his heartbeat will help her, force her into the present moment.

He can tell when she finally feels it. Her hand tenses and then it grips his shirt. Her eyes are still far away and her breathing is sporadic, so he guides her body into his with her hands still on his chest, so she doesn’t feel trapped. She can push away if she needs to. She doesn’t, she only leans in and presses her face to the left side of his neck, breathing in his scent. Her body sags a little into his and her breathing return to normal. He feels her left hand move from his chest up his body, where she places two fingers on his neck just under his jaw, feeling the pulse of life within him. She moves her head a little and he feels the brush of her lips against his neck and the puff of breath that follows her words, “thank you”. He answers with the tightening of his arms around her.


	4. Avoidance

It’s been months since they’ve both consulted on a case. He’s been taking on smaller cases just to take the edge off his boredom but it’s not the same without her. He knows that she’s avoiding him and work, he tries to talk to her about it but she dismisses his comments and locks herself in her room. It takes three more months to pass by for him to admit that he’s worried. Worried that she’s pulling away from him and from the work.

She’s avoiding him. She’s avoiding work. She’s avoiding Marcus and Gregson. She’s even avoiding Alfredo. It seems that she’s avoiding everything and everyone associated with Sherlock in her life. She does not want to speak to them or work with them or see them. Their presence acts as a consistent reminder and it puts her on edge. She’s using every flimsy excuse she can just to evade them.

He was worried then but now he’s scared. Her excuses become even more trivial that he begins to wonder if she’s stop trying to hide her circumvention. His trips to the precinct are always solo now. Bell and Gregson always ask about her, saying she’s not returning their calls and that they’re worried about her. He does his best to reassure them that she’s fine, just taking her time to ease back into the routine again. He can tell they don’t believe him but they go along with it anyway. They all know that he's losing her.

He knew it was coming, the day where he would wake up and she’d be gone. It still didn’t prepare him for the anguish he feels. He’s only been awake for an hour but the brownstone feels empty, a shell now that her presence is gone and her stuff missing. It no longer feels like home to him, it’s only a house now. He gets a text message from her a few hours later, asking him to meet her at the promenade.

Sitting on a park bench she looks at him and tells him what he already knows, she’s leaving him. “Hopefully, only for a little while” she says. She can’t take being in the brownstone or working as a detective, not right now. She places her hand on his forearm, “I think what we do is amazing and I hope that with me leaving, in time, I’ll be able to enjoy doing it again, without fear.” He looks down at her hand and has a sense of déjà vu at the situation, but her eyes are different this time, they’re sad and haunted. He realizes that he’s nodding and she stands to leave, hand sliding from his arm. She’s starts walking away and as he stares at her retreating form he thinks, “When you find yourself again, come back to me, Joan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last line taken for a david cook song.


	5. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His gaze wavers from hers as he takes her in, trying to deduce what he can about the last year and half he’s not seen her.

She’s been on her own for 3 months. The first month she could barely leave her bedroom. The aches in her muscles and joints made it nearly impossible. Her medical mind trying to self-diagnosis but there was no obvious cause and she knew that it was not her body that was hurting, not really. 

The second month the aches were replaced with the feeling of nothingness. She couldn’t feel and couldn’t emote anything. She would look around her new apartment at the smiling faces of her family and old friends from a past life and feel nothing. 

The third month she’s prescribed drugs to combat a reactive depression that has settled in her. The pills help and she’s able to function and feel almost normal. The on going therapy for the past seven months has helped her talk through the events of those 2 days and she’s slowly able to talk about it without it triggering flashbacks or anxiety. She’s reconnected with her family and has even reached out to her old friends. 

In the sixth month she’s eating in a restaurant with some friends when a man at the table next to hers collapses. She freezes for a moment and the images of a warehouse flash before her but then they’re gone and she rushes to the fallen man’s side. When the ambulance arrives she’s still administering CPR. After the EMTs take over and get the man stable and on the gurney, she over hears them tell the man’s wife that she saved his life. The woman thanks her and hugs her teary eyed before rushing to catch up with the gurney. 

It’s been a year and 2 months being on her own and she’s not seen Sherlock or anyone that she became acquainted with during her time with him. She’s renewed her medical license and has taken up working in the ER at New York Presbyterian Hospital. The other doctors have asked her why she’s no longer a surgeon and her answer is always “I needed a change of scenery.” The fast paced environment and active diagnosis and treatment rate have become a therapy on it’s own. It doesn’t give her time to think about anything else, it grounds her in the present and doesn’t let her slip away. 

It’s almost 4 months later and her double shift in the ER is almost over when she’s presented with a chart labeled, “Holmes, Sherlock”. She looks over at the designated bed and she sees him, them. Gregson and Bell are standing by the side of the bed seemingly lecturing him on his reckless behaviour. He’s got a bandage on his head and right hand. Before this moment she’s thought of them and what it would be like to see them again. Seeing them with her own eyes only a few feet away she feels a surge of elation and longing that she never knew she missed. 

She walks over to them and she sees their surprise. Gregson and Bell give her a hug and express how good it was to see her and she returns the same sentiments. She looks over at him and their eyes meet for a long moment, neither speaking out loud, yet communicating all the same. His gaze wavers from hers as he takes her in, trying to deduce what he can about the last year and half he’s not seen her. Gregson and Bell leave on the pretense of paperwork needing to be filled out as she moves to take his vitals and asks the routine questions. When she’s done her examination they’re looking at each other again. She tells him she’ll schedule him for CT scan and x rays and that he’ll be here for a few hours. Before he can speak her name is called and she rushes off. 

He watches her set a little boy’s leg in cast and it’s like he’s seeing her for the first time again. He has seen glimpses of her past life as a doctor but this Watson was different. She hasn’t forgotten his training and she uses it in tandem with her medical knowledge and skills. She looks alive, no longer a shell that she was when he last saw her in the park. He continues to watch her until a nurse comes to take him to get tested. When he returns she’s gone and a new attending dresses his hand and head. He returns to the brownstone with conflicting feelings of finally seeing her and feeling like he’s lost her all over again. He sits on the rooftop, staring at her namesakes and thinks.

She misses him and misses the work. She finally feels that her life is back on the rails but she no longer thinks that the track she’s on is the right one. It seems that she’s moving backwards and while she was content with it before she isn’t any longer. A few months later she leaves Presbyterian and applies to a medical clinic in Brooklyn for a part time position as a GP. The next day she’s standing in front of the house she used to call home, nervous all of a sudden to knock. She raises her hand to knock but the door swings open with Sherlock on the other side with an exasperated look on his face. “Honestly, Watson, I’ve overestimated your fortitude, come in, I’ve a case”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it. I hope the ending wasn't disappointing for you. I might add a small epilogue chapter later. Thank you for reading and to those that commented and left KUDOs, it is much appreciated.


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